Uncertain
by jazwriter
Summary: One-shot. Internal dialogue that occurs after Andy quits in Paris. Mirandy. Not beta-read, so all mistakes are mine. This is a repost from LJ that I wrote January 2011. Enjoy.
1. Chapter 1

**Uncertain**

**Author:** JAZWriter/JAZWriter13

**Fandom:** DWP Miranda/Andy

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters within **The Devil Wears Prada** world. I am merely using the characters for entertainment purposes as allowed through fair usage laws. I make no profit, nor is this story of any value except insofar as I am able to attract positive feedback and exclamations of my brilliance. So there.

**Author's Notes: **One-shot. Internal dialogue that occurs after Andy quits in Paris. Mirandy. Not beta-read, so all mistakes are mine.

**Part 1**

Eighteen Months

It has been eighteen months. Eighteen months since she had the unmitigated gall to walk away. Eighteen months of living up to all the ridiculous monikers my reputation has spurred while I have raged at her audacity. Eighteen months of cursing her name and of ruing the day I made the fatal mistake of hiring the smart, fat girl.

Huffing I turn my attention back to the latest set of photographs from the San Diego shoot. The models all look the same—anorexic, brainless, bored. I catch myself drumming my fingers on the desk and stop immediately. I will not allow anyone to witness such weakness. I am not weak.

So what if my bed is large and I am small? So what if I have chosen not to take a lover since Stephen left? So what if I dream of flowing chestnut hair and haunting dark eyes? It means nothing. She is nothing.

Staring at the prints, I pick the least abhorrent ones and circle them before sending them down to Nigel. Nigel, the silent sufferer. Nigel, the loyal one. Nigel, the one who instigated a betrayal much worse than the action I took against him. My betrayal was professional. Her betrayal, a reaction to the unfairness of my handling of Nigel's future, was personal. She cut me to the core and punished me much more effectively than she probably ever imagined. Nigel stayed. She left. That alone corresponds to the severity of the aftermath.

If she had stayed, she would have seen how Nigel is no worse off than before. She would know that I am setting up a better future for him. She would recognize that I am not heartless. She would understand that I had to preserve one of the most important parts of my life as the other parts fell around my ears. I never imagined she would leave. I thought she was a safe person in my life, like my daughters. So much is uncertain in life. So many people cannot be trusted. I thought she was different.

I still believe she is.

That is the crux of my restlessness. Eighteen months and I still think of the silly girl. Eighteen months and I find I care about her well-being. Eighteen months have not lessened my instinctive ocular sweep toward the desk she formerly occupied as I enter the office or the squeezing of my heart when I see someone else seated where she should be.

Recognizing it is time for me to call it a day, I gather my belongings and leave. Roy pulls to the curb as I exit the building, and I grimace as I reach the empty car. Just before I duck into the interior, I look to my right. Frozen on the walkway she stands. She looks as if she has seen a ghost. Her face is pale and her lips pinched as she grips her purse tightly with both hands. I nod slightly in greeting and in goodbye. Letting out a breath, I close my eyes briefly. "Home."


	2. Chapter 2

**Part 2**

One month

It's been a whole month. One month since I nearly fainted on a New York City sidewalk. One month since I realized just how much I missed her. One month since the answer to my dreams and nightmares appeared before me for a timeless moment.

Typing out the last few sentences for my article, I mentally prod myself to keep focused. I have a deadline to meet. I can't just lose myself in the past or play the "what if" game while the minutes tick by. I can do that in a few hours when I return to my lonely apartment to eat my solitary dinner and to sleep in my cold bed.

At least I will be going out tomorrow night. Nigel has invited me to a small soiree to celebrate his new job. He is heading up a new brand going international. It is rumored to be much better than the James Holt venture. And she is the one who engineered the position for him. Sighing at my lack of concentration, I reread the article one more time before forwarding it to the editor. He's not the editor I wish to see, nor the one I wish to have hounding me each day to do my best.

I wish I could look up from my desk into searing blue eyes. I wish she had trusted me enough to tell me what was happening. Or that she would have explained. Why couldn't she reach out? Why couldn't she try to make me understand? Why did I take it so personally? Why do I still care?

She nodded at me. She acknowledged me. She looked into my eyes with those penetrating ones and saw me. No smile, no words, but a look that said so much. I was not a bug to be squashed or a nameless former assistant. And although it was night, the overhead lights were bright enough for me to drink in her expression.

I want to see her again. I want to be her focus, if only for forever. I need to understand that look in her eyes, that emotion that raced through me, that feeling telling me that we have left things undone. I am so unsure of my feelings, her feelings, of our past and of our future. I need to reach out to her. If she swats my hand away, at least I can move forward knowing that I had tried. Better to feel the sting of rejection than the bitterness of uncertainty.

That is why I must step into her path. I am no longer a naïve, scared girl. I am a confident, professional woman. I have learned from her, from life, even from my present job. One month of reviewing my feelings has clarified that I miss how demanding she was, how she pushed me to do more, to be more. One month of concentrated thought has pointed out a reality from which I shied away—I care about her.

Tomorrow I will find some answers through Nigel. I will hear how his new job was arranged. I will hear how she has fared since I left. I will hear how she has been since her divorce was finalized. I will find out all I can. Then I will approach her. And if she spurns my interest, at least I will know that what has been left undone, I will have to complete on my own.


	3. Chapter 3

**Part 3**

Five years

It has been five years. Five years since I entered Nigel's celebratory party to see her shining eyes. Five years of drastic reinventions of well-known sobriquets as I strove to leave the past in the past while creating a memorable future. Five years of drowning in the memory of her face and the dulcet tones of her voice.

With a sigh I gaze at the New York skyline. That night could have ended in many ways. It was within my power to ostracize her, to exact revenge for daring to make me care. I could have allowed her to finish her stuttering apologies and explanations of why she had left me in Paris to fend for myself. Why she had left me alone. I could have simply walked away.

Gathering my thoughts and my belongings, I leave the office. The evening air caresses my face as I pace toward the town car. Glancing toward my left I see her. I see a broad smile cover her lovely visage and feel my lips curl in response. With a curt nod I enter the car.

Nigel had been regaling her with humorous anecdotes when I had entered the room. I had felt the air shift and the world fall away as our eyes had locked. Next to her mere moments later I had made an unprecedented decision. Conversing with everybody who was anybody I had worked the room without allowing her to leave my side. We did not speak directly beyond the customary greetings. It had not been necessary.

Sinking into the leather chair, I close my eyes briefly, remembering. Five years ago I had called for my car as I had stared into her eyes. Tendering my farewells I had left the party without a backward glance. Five years ago she had walked beside me into the brisk air. Five years ago she had walked into my home and into my arms. She has never left.

Turning my head I gaze into welcoming eyes. Leaning forward I cover those luscious lips gently with mine. Humming, I pull back gradually, pleased by how her eyes flutter open so slowly. We have no need for words. No uncertainty exists between us. We understand each other's feelings well. Without breaking our connection I murmur, "Home."


End file.
